


i can’t be your saint

by corvus_corvus



Series: Corvus' Banned Together 2020 Submissions [4]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Arbitrarily Inconsistent With Canon, Far Too Liberal Use of Italic Text, Fuck the Man, Homophobia, M/M, Talking bad about the (fictional?) Catholic Church
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-22
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:47:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26053687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corvus_corvus/pseuds/corvus_corvus
Summary: A brief history of Lavi’s run-ins with authority and the eventual acquisition of one dark haired, poor-tempered accomplice.
Relationships: Kanda Yuu/Lavi
Series: Corvus' Banned Together 2020 Submissions [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1860889
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23
Collections: Banned Together Bingo 2020





	i can’t be your saint

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the prompt Fuck the Man as a submission to Banned Together Bingo 2020.
> 
> Yes, this phrase is anachronistic for D.Gray-man's 1900's setting. No, I do not care, doubly so since much of DGM is anachronistic anyways.

0

Lavi likes words. Has always liked them, really. It’s one of the few constants that has followed him for as long as he can remember, like Bookman’s dark eyes and watchful gaze.

Taboos are enticing, and words even had that going for them. Who doesn’t love a bad word? More specifically, Lavi remembers being young and fascinated by the mutability of _fuck_ , though he supposes that hasn’t changed either. It’s too much fun to sit and unravel what should be a simple word with a host of synonyms. He loves tracking all its conjugations, connotations, and condemnations by anyone with an ounce of self respect.

Good thing Lavi had more important things to worry about than other people’s opinions of him.

Fuck the man, you know?

— 

1

“Please do not repeat everything you read, child. Especially when you do not understand it.”

“I was just asking,” the sixth name pouts. The elder Bookman’s stern look belies disbelief, but six insists, “I _was_. I just want to know what it means and why these dusty old letters use all those words.”

“Dusty old letters?”

Six’s red eyebrows shoot up. “I mean precious archives, sir.” Bookman huffs and returns to cataloguing the collection. Easy silence settles between them as Bookman hands his apprentice another twine-tied stack to begin copying. Six doesn’t complain, just pauses to rub a hand over his eyepatch before continuing. In the brief year and a half that six—holding one of many other names, of course—had been studying under him, he has become fastidious and eager to learn. It’s what he needs from an apprentice, but this apprentice is also younger than any he has trained before. Bookman takes pity on him with a sigh.

“‘Fuck,’” Bookman pinches the bridge of his nose, “‘the man’ is a phrase intended to express the speaker’s disregard for authority. While it can be applied to any institutional power, it historically has been used to show disrespect to governments or organized religion.” Six watches him like he’s revealing the secret to life. “I would prefer you refrain from using it as you should not be disrespectful to anyone above you.”

Six is beaming. “Thanks for the definition, gramps.”

Bookman hits his pen against the table, making six start at the sound. “Don’t call me that.”

“Sure thing,” six mutters with a spark in his eye, “gramps.” 

—

2

The forty-fourth name lounges against a worn wall in the corner of a pub. He’s supposed to be gathering information on the local ceasefire in the most active part of this tiny, sandy border town. Instead he’s drinking just enough to feel light and loose while commiserating with lingering members of the town’s guard. _Close enough_ , he smirks at his own thoughts. 

“Oh, what’re you smilin’ about, traveler?” One of the oldest men at the table asks him amicably.

“Just haven’t drank in a while, that’s all. It’s nice,” forty-four lies with ease. 

Another one pipes up, “I don’t believe that. You see someone here you like?” _Now that he mentions it_ , forty-four’s thoughts trail off watching a man with dark hair across the room. He’s got a nice jaw and moves with a steady weight that comes from a life of physical work. Forty-four’s silence seems to be taken as confirmation, and the speculation continues. “So there _is_ ,” the same one teases.

“No, no, no,” forty-four denies with a shake of his head. When he feels a little dizzy, he concedes he might be more drunk than he thought.

The table of guardsmen roars with laughter, welcoming the drama. Their attention is on him, and forty-four’s stomach turns with nervous energy. “Ah, c’mon. You’ve been hanging around us for a few weeks; give us the details.”

Trying to regain control of the conversation, forty-four falls back on his original mission. “This isn’t the time for _romance_ ,” he drawls the word with all the sarcasm he can muster and gets a few chuckles in reply. “Aren’t you more curious about the ceasefire? I heard rumors that there were some kind of monsters spotted across the border and one person was just, I dunno, hunting them. And now the enemy doesn’t wants to fight us anymore? Sounds like—”

“Sounds like no one cares,” the oldest one chuckles. “We’re here to celebrate a bit of peace in a long war. Give us something to talk about, kid. Which girl’s caught your eye?”

He hums at that and decides it might be best to indulge them if he’s ever going to get them to talk about anything else. “Dark hair,” forty-four squints and tries to make out the profile. “Pretty.”

“‘Dark hair,’” the teasing one scoffs. “That could be almost everyone in here, except for you and that red mess on your head.” _That’s the idea_ , forty-four smirks.

Someone else responds. “Pretty’s not everyone though. Besides, I think he’s looking at Adi.”

Another one joins in “Then let’s get you talking to her, yeah? We’ll set you up and you’ll be headin’ home with her in no time.” Forty-four flinches. _Uh oh_. There’s a million reasons why he can’t let that happen, top of the list being that this mystery woman does not deserve harassment. His mind races through methods of escape. When one of the guardsmen stands up and turns toward the other end of the room, he knows he’s out of time.

“No, thanks,” forty-four grabs the man’s arm, panic sobering him up and steadying his hand.

“Why’re you making this so difficult? You’ve been out there fighting for weeks, don’t you want a—”

He swallows, “That’s not who I meant.” _Shit, shit shit_. All eyes are on him to explain, and forty-four scrambles for a way out of this piss-poor excuse. Taking a hefty drink, he braces himself for admitting what he knows he shouldn’t. “I was talking about him,” he points. Forty-four licks his lips when he the dark haired man tucks a piece of hair behind his ear, revealing the span of neck to shoulder. He’d love to see it up close. Wait, is that a sword propped up next to his chair? 

“You want to fuck the _man_?” Shit, he didn’t mean to tell the truth.

Forty-four leers more openly in response, and he’s on his ass kicked out of the bar with a couple of new bruises in the next five minutes. Unrepentant and unsurprised, he laughs at the night sky as he wanders back to his shared lodging. He knows he’s lucky to be able to walk away from this. Or not quite lucky; don’t let it be said he can’t hold his own in a fight.

When Bookman asks him why he is stumbling back after midnight a little buzzed and bruised, forty-four tells him. Belatedly, he realizes that he told him exactly what happened. That there was this radiant _man_ —“Just don’t get caught by anyone who cares again,” is all Bookman has to say of his interests.

They leave town before sunrise.

—

3

In the Black Order, Bookman warns, he will need to maintain extra caution. He doesn’t really understand what about this job makes it so much more dangerous than the others, and Bookman will not do him the honor of elaborating. Something about lazy apprentices. He rests his chin in his hand, imagining the lecture.

As they board a small boat, he is given his forty-ninth name. _Lavi_.

Something about that name is like a breath of fresh air, shedding the heavy, tired, bitterness of name forty-eight.

Forty— _no, Lavi_ —thinks he might understand Bookman’s words of warning a few minutes later. After the boat docks and their procession is guided into the main hall of the Black Order’s European headquarters, the first thing he sees is a coffin. And another. And many, many more. Lavi has seen death chasing war after war with Bookman, so he’s desensitized to a mass funeral. The young woman sobbing in the middle of the room is not. She turns to scan the group of newcomers, and her deep, sad eyes land on his. Just for a moment, he remembers being younger, hastily wiping tears off his face before Bookman notices and reprimands him again. It makes Lavi shiver. Whether Bookman was warning him about the physical dangers of being on the front lines, or the dangers of getting lost into memories of feeling, Lavi is certain that he can handle it. He’s done it before. The Black Order will be no different.

Of course, he is wrong; the Black Order is different. Three weeks later, Lavi reconsiders his master’s words. Maybe he wasn’t warning him about the usual threats of death or hurt after all, but instead the vast dangers of playing a friendly role. This forty-ninth name is meant to be warm and bright and strong. Friendly to a fault. Over the top and unthreatening. It’s more than anything he has been tasked with before, but rising to a challenge is his speciality. 

What he did not expect is that Lavi has the easiest time gathering information of any of his past names; it turns out being warm and talkative puts others in a position where they volunteer their secrets readily. It also draws people to him en masse. Overloaded with excitement and questions and invitations to pass the time that Lavi must constantly deny without losing their trust. The balancing act is treacherous, and Lavi can feel Bookman watching him at every turn. It’s a test, Lavi thinks, to see if his apprenticeship is still well-deserved all these years later. Can he remain detached, analytical, and guarded even as he is forced to outwardly practice the opposite? Lavi has confidence in his abilities and does not struggle. The Black Order will be different, but he is not in danger.

Lavi feels truly threatened for the first time since arriving at the Order when he sets out on his twenty-first mission— it’s not just any mission, but one with a new partner. Komui apologizes profusely for the arrangement no matter how many times Lavi assures him it is fine. “You don’t understand,” Komui shakes his head, “he is deeply unhappy with our choice to no longer send out exorcists on their own. Some people he has worked have even accused him of, ahh, retaliatory actions.” Lavi looks up. “Surely it’s nothing. He’s always been a little antagonistic towards authority, but nobody has gotten hurt.” The way he laughs nervously and waves his hand says otherwise, but Lavi just turns his attention back to the mission brief in his hands.

“I’m sure it’ll be fine. But if you’re already short-staffed, why not just send him off alone?”

Komui relaxes a little at Lavi’s strategically curious smile. “It is a matter of safety. Besides, with Bookman away indefinitely I can’t afford to be down a two full teams.” Komui’s bright smile makes a return, “And what better way to give a chance to the one person Kanda hasn’t scared off yet?”

Lavi is pretty sure he’s heard that name strung with curses throughout the Order’s halls. “Kanda Yuu?”

“Who are you?” Lavi jumps as the door to Komui’s crowded office almost rams into him. Judging by the slammed door and glare, Lavi’s going to assume this is Kanda. Probable names aren’t first thing that captures Lavi’s attention about this man, though. Instead it’s the sharpness of his eyebrows, the heft of his strong arms, the grace of his dark hair meticulously tied back. Simply put, Kanda is devastatingly beautiful. Lavi is consequently devastated.

Worst of all, he remembers this man. Lavi doesn’t forget anything, but even if he did, this face, this posture, would be something he remembers. Physical distance and a haze of alcohol aside, Kanda looks exactly the same, and the forty-ninth name finds him just as attractive as forty-four did.

Lavi is fucked.

“Oh, good morning, Kanda. This is your partner for your next mission—”

“I don’t want—”

Komui presses on with a stiff grin. “His name is Lavi. He’s been with the Order for a few months now, but he’s Bookman’s apprentice.” Kanda stares at Lavi like he’s already plotting his death, yet Lavi’s brain is too busy focusing on the fact that Kanda is _looking at him_ to care. Lavi gives a little wave in greeting as Kanda’s hand grips the sword hanging at his hip. Komui’s smile turns to a grimace. “Please don’t do anything rash.”

“Don’t worry, boss,” Lavi beams at the pretty, angry man, “I’m sure we’re going to get along great.”

Depending on how you define getting along, Lavi thinks they could’ve gotten off to a worse start. Before they’ve even reached their destination, Kanda tries to slam five doors in Lavi’s face, strand him at two different train stations, and get him apprehended by the Hungarian police as they pass through the country. What Kanda fails to understand is that Lavi does not care. If anything, he is entertained. How many boring, serious missions has he endured with Bookman his whole life? Kanda, for all his malice, is keeping Lavi pleasantly on his toes. Nonetheless, he is starting to see why every other member of the Order might be refusing to work with him.

It doesn’t take long for akuma to ambush them amidst what they now know is the undead ruins of a country town. Knowing they were too late to save these people has already started sitting heavy in Lavi’s gut when he looks over to check that Kanda is still standing. Bad call, because if Lavi was distracted by Kanda’s looks before, he doesn’t stand a chance after seeing him in motion. Slicing through demons looks like a dance on him, choreographed neatly from years of swordsmanship. He feels the raw energy of Kanda’s downward swing as if he were the demon being cleaved in half. Lost in thought, Lavi narrowly dodges an akuma swipe at his leg. He summons a circle of lightning with a well placed heaven’s seal to get the encroaching akuma off their backs. 

And when the once-town is cleared out, Lavi finally risks another look at Kanda. Even with his hair half falling out of its tie and dirt smeared across his face, Kanda sets off sparks inside him. Forty-four would have propositioned him on the spot, forty-eight would have been rough and insistent, but forty-nine is a little softer than both of them. Lavi can be cordial, after all he has a job to do no matter how the echoes of past names scream in his head to get a room with this man _now_. He chooses to ignore this potential problem; surely it will fade over time as Kanda’s bitterness overshadows the pretty face.

Komui is relieved to see them back at the Order in one piece, and delighted when he gives Lavi a once-over and finds no signs of injury. The man looks him in the eye with a raised eyebrow. Lavi shrugs. Komui returns his attention to Kanda as he takes their mission report, fighting a smile. “How was it Kanda?”

Kanda has not stopped scowling since they begun their return trip and his arms are perpetually crossed. While he seems to have dodged Kanda’s death sentence, Lavi doesn’t feel that he made a good impression. Imagine his surprise when Kanda, scowling at his own boots, replies “Tolerable,” and walks away.

Komui holds it together for five seconds before he’s exploding with manic laughter. “I can’t believe it,” he tells Lavi, “he likes you.”

Five missions later, Bookman is still out on top secret business and Lavi and Kanda have become something of a team, though neither of them will admit it. Just like neither of them will admit that Kanda thanked Lavi after he pushed him out of the way of a rampaging akuma’s jaws, or that Lavi doesn’t bother being as boisterous (fake, Kanda would call it) when they’re together. Sometimes they talk just to talk, even if it’s only about work. 

After their last mission, Kanda confronts him in a hallway. He stands close enough that Lavi’s heart pounds in his chest. “You can speak the languages of every place we’ve passed through.”

“Mmhmm. I’m a polyglot.” Lavi is certain he heard the word “useful” amidst Kanda’s responding grumble, so he laughs. It feels good to have earned Kanda’s begrudging praise. Being around Kanda feels good. As soon as he thinks it, his heart stops.

Lavi has been wrong this whole time. Regardless of his master’s intentions, he was right; the Order is different and dangerous. But it’s not physical injury, emotional attachment, the friendly guise, or death that Lavi wishes he was warned about.

Kanda Yuu is the real danger of the Black Order. Lavi should keep far away.

But since when has Lavi ever done as he is told? Instead, he accepts every single mission with Kanda Yuu that he is assigned.

—

4

The evening after Bookman returns, Lavi is summoned to the roof of the Order late at night. Bookman is waiting for him, smoking and stargazing. The familiar smell of tobacco is calming, yet Bookman won’t meet his gaze. Lavi sets aside his forty-ninth mask and replaces it with the one of the dutiful apprentice, wringing his hands. “Good evening.”

Bookman ignores the greeting. “Komui Lee asked me something interesting today. He said that in my absence you had gone on several missions with the exorcist Kanda Yuu, and requested that you continue, contrary to our original arrangement.” The smoke settles around them when Bookman pauses. “I do not begrudge the man for doing his job, yet I cannot imagine why you would have agreed to go on such missions without my permission.”

“Part of my work here is to play the role of exorcist. It seemed counterproductive to deny a mission, even with you away.” Bookman’s apprentice takes a breath. This question he anticipated.

“And Kanda Yuu?”

He wants to ask Bookman what he means, but knows he shouldn’t. He snaps, “Yes, I worked with him. It was fine.”

“I worry about the rumors I hear. Kanda Yuu is known for being—”

“Taciturn. Uncooperative. Violent,” the apprentice supplies. _Wonderful_ , forty-nine adds.

“ _Dangerous_.” Bookman’s words ring heavy in the wet night air. “Dangerous to himself and those near him. And so are the missions he is sent on. The Black Order directs Kanda Yuu’s rage at some of its most lethal enemies. When you are sent off with him, you share the same burden.”

The apprentice raises an eyebrow. “They were normal missions. The same kind you and I are sent on, I promise. I didn’t know that—”

“Exactly,” Bookman interrupts, “You did not know. Just as you do not know about his past, his curse, his instability. I am telling you now. With that information, would you allow Komui to continue your assignments with Kanda Yuu?”

Forty-nine expects the apprentice to say no, to ensure he never sees Kanda again. It would certainly be the practical thing to do. “Yes,” he hears, and shocks himself.

“Oh?” The apprentice stays silent. Bookman levels him with a gaze sharp enough to cut. Somehow, with the strength of all forty-nine names, he holds his ground. “And you can assure me that Kanda Yuu will not be a problem?”

“He doesn’t want to hurt me, and he isn’t interested in my record keeping. He makes fun of me every time I pull out a notebook.” He works up the nerve to meet Bookman’s eyes and once again calls on every name to hold it without flinching. “I promise he isn’t a threat.”

Bookman scoffs, “We both know that is not what I meant.”

Shock paints the apprentice’s face uncontrollably red. He doesn’t even manage to stutter out a denial, so Bookman mumbles a warning he muttered long ago: do not get caught by anyone who would care, or worse, find himself caring. Then he leaves. _Kanda Yuu will not be a problem_ , Lavi repeats to himself.

—

5

 _Stay away_ , he thinks. Stay away, he does not.

Instead, Lavi starts looking for Kanda outside of missions. For some reason, Kanda accepts his company with minimal complaint. It’s then that Lavi gets to meet the person beyond the rough demeanor. He learns what Kanda likes (dogs, plants, warm colors) and frowns upon (sweets, fine art, hospitals). Kanda has wishes too, like wanting even one person around the Order to speak his native tongue with. For the first time, Kanda looks at him with a barely-there smile. “You said you’re a polyglot. I had to look it up because you’re stupid and too fucking smart—”

“Which one is it, Yuu?”

“Quiet, I’m getting to my point,” Kanda snaps. “It means you know a lot of languages. Do you speak Japanese?”

“ _I don’t know, Yuu, do I?_ ” Lavi replies with perhaps too much enthusiasm to get his pronunciation perfect. At least his Japanese isn’t too rusty thanks to Bookman’s drills. It must be good enough, because this time Kanda gives him a bright, genuine smile.

They mostly speak Japanese when they are alone, and it becomes something coveted, spun like spider silk and secrets between them. Everyone else comments on their strange friendship, Lavi seen as something of a masochist for constantly teasing Kanda’s wrath. It’s a game they play, important for keeping up appearances in a way they both need. Somehow, Bookman must see exactly how staged it is, because Lavi can feel the disappointment radiating from him. Lavi knows he is breaking the rules. In response, he looks his master right in the eye and grins.

—

6

“I didn’t know you took care of this garden.” Lavi gapes.

“I’ve said I like plants.”

Examining Kanda’s array of gardening shears, Lavi counters with a look of disbelief. “That’s not the same as saying you keep a whole garden! I didn’t know.”

Kanda looks over his shoulder, “Does that bother you?”

“What? No, I was just surprised you could hide an entire hobby from me all this time.”

Pruning plants in silence, Kanda doesn’t reply immediately. “Good. I have more secrets than this.” Lavi’s mind summons thoughts of inhuman healing speed, the edge of a strange tattoo, that ever-blooming lotus in his room. Kanda’s words feel like an understatement. It doesn’t bother him, though, after all he’s the same. What _does_ bother is that he is bound to be this way. That he has to hide from Kanda Yuu, the only person that makes him want to bare his soul, because people tell him he must. All this time together, the closeness and gestures have primed Lavi to snap. 

Quietly, he starts. “Me too. There’s a lot I shouldn’t ever say. Is that—”

“I don’t mind, Lavi.” Kanda holds his gaze, and Lavi knows he means it. Something in that silence breaks him, brings forth a pain in his chest and forces him to really look at Kanda. He sees the exorcist from when they first met, the gorgeous man with a bad attitude he was stuck traveling with, and the lethal swordsman whose every move made him want to melt. He also sees the man reluctant to admit he was wrong, a person full of quiet appreciation, willing to try trusting someone for the first time in years.

He’s ready to revolt. It’s irrational, he knows, but he wants it.

“You okay?” Kanda asks hesitantly while carrying a tray of potted seedlings. Lavi hums and watches him dig a row of small holes along the plot’s edge.

Lavi may be forcibly out of touch with his own feelings, but years of reading people have made him emotionally aware. He knows that he is feeling something, and that that something is more than dangerous. It’s different than the pure, flat attraction he felt for Kanda early on. He wants to do something about it.

But this place won’t tolerate him pursuing the one person he has ever been so taken with. Lavi considers what the powers that be might do to him if they catch him flirting, and with another man no less. The Order is the teeth of the Catholic Church, and he lives amongst their rank. He considers that there are more than a few capable warriors that could be ordered after him, and they live right down the hall. Then he watches Kanda transfer another seedling into the ground with a tenderness Lavi has never seen before, and disregards all consequences. What is it Lavi usually says to people who think they can tell him what to do? Who try to threaten him? That’s right, fuck ‘em.

“Want some help, Yuu?” Kanda pauses a second to look into Lavi’s eye. He nods.

Shoulder to shoulder, Lavi leans over and whispers, “Good, I’ve got some secrets I want to tell you,” fully intending on breaking every oath that binds him to his masters.

Kanda turns to him with one eyebrow raised, a smirk blooming across his face.

—

7

“What did you say?”

“You know, the fuck word, Yuu.”

Kanda tries to rolls his eyes, but he’s a little too far gone for it to look right. “No, rabbit, I know that part. What was the rest of it?”

Lavi reaches over the altar to pour Kanda another glass of, what was it they picked up? Right, tequila. While sober, Kanda actually _smiled_ when he saw the large bottle in the corner of the pantry, so Lavi scooped it up immediately. Anything to see him smile like that again. Even picking the lock to the Order’s food stores and stealing alcohol. Even breaking into the chapel on the Order’s bottom floor at one in the morning, mere hours before they would have to file in and listen to a sermon from the same pews Lavi had already considered bending himself over just to make Kanda scold him. Even laying across this holy table, sloshing tequila all over the dark wood to get a little closer to his dearest.

They clink their glasses together with a little too much force, but it’s all in good cheer. Lavi struggles to think of what unusual thing he could have said. “Fuck the man?”

“Yeah. I’ve never heard it before. Are you trying to tell me you like—”

“No,” Lavi interrupts with a drunken wave of his hand. “Well I mean yes, but no.” Kanda frowns, so Lavi can’t help but smile wider. “It means like, screw authority. Rebel. Fight the power. That sorta shit.”

Kanda glares at the clear liquid in his glass before speaking low and quiet. “But you do like men.”

Despite the fire of alcohol running through his veins, Lavi suddenly feels cold. He did say that, didn’t he? Keeping secrets from Kanda is far from his favorite thing to do. In this case, it’s an omission that’s been critical to Lavi’s survival during his past few years surrounded by members and followers of the Catholic Church. Their current home is almost a monastery, and Kanda was born and raised here. Lavi swears he feels something between himself and Kanda shatter. 

Tension puts Lavi on alert, makes time and motion slow while his minds races. This is what he sees: Kanda standing, dark hair slipping from behind his shoulders, reaching across the altar for _him_ , lunging at _his neck_. Lavi throws up an arm in defense, reaching backwards to catch himself as he stumbles out of the chair in attempted evasion. He fails, and when Kanda grabs him it’s not hands on his neck, but rather his shirt collar. Lavi barely has a moment to blink before he is pulled forward into a kiss.

Lavi’s chest heaves with a sob. _Thank you_. 

Red faced, Kanda still speaks with pure confidence. “I like you, too.” Still holding Lavi tight, Kanda leans in again, kissing him with a warmth that threatens to set fire to the altar.

“Yuu,” he laughs, “I hate the church and all, but this is something else.” So Kanda kisses him a third time while flipping off the empty chapel. Lavi’s drunk enough that he laughs until he cries.

—

8

Before he knows it, Lavi’s favorite pastime has become sleeping next to Kanda Yuu. It’s not an indulgence they can afford often, but that just means Lavi holds every memory of falling asleep listening to Kanda breathe all the more precious. Most often, it’s when they are out on a mission after bandaging wounds. He imagines trying to tell someone at the Order about this Kanda, the one that is gentle and thoughtful and kisses his forehead so so softly. They’d call him a liar. And maybe try to kill him, but that’s of lesser importance. Lavi giggles at the thought.

“What is it now?” Kanda asks, voice muffled with his face pressed into Lavi’s unwounded shoulder. They both took a heavy hit from an akuma’s claws earlier today, but of course Kanda’s gash healed with supernatural speed as the sigil on his chest wrapped just a little more tightly across his skin. It doesn’t escape Lavi’s notice that the more supplies they have to use to patch him up, the tighter Kanda holds him that night. Tonight, he holds Lavi tight enough it aches.

“I was thinking about you, and how, the grave sin of sodomy aside,” Kanda snorts at that, “no one in the Order would believe that we’re together. Or that you can be so kind, you know? That you _spoil_ me.”

“I do not.”

“Don’t worry, I love you too.” Lavi lays on his back so he can watch Kanda blush and scowl simultaneously.

“Yeah right, you just think I’m pretty. And want to fuck.”

“Can’t deny that. But I’m not looking to fuck the pretty boy, or the war general, or whatever terrible person you think you are. I want to fuck the man, Kanda. I want you, always.”

He rolls his eyes. “How romantic.”

“C’mon, you make this so difficult.”

“Fine. That was nice—in a very _you_ way.” Lavi gives an exaggerated gasp. “Shut up. I won’t admit it again,” Kanda adds with bite in his voice but a smile on his lips. Wrapping his arms around Kanda’s waist, Lavi whispers thank-yous and promises and sweet nothings in Kanda’s ear until they fall asleep.

—

9

“How’s the little apprentice doing?” A low voice wonders, accompanied by footsteps.

“Let me just _kill_ him, please, Earl, I want to him to be nothing more than be a bloody smear across this godforsaken earth. I—”

The last one’s rambling is covered by a teasing laugh. “What are you going to do if this one dies, too, old man?” It laughs again with manic joy.

The words echo around him while Lavi—the apprentice? no, Lavi—tries to break the surface, return to complete consciousness. He regrets it the moment he succeeds, feeling the pain, exhaustion, despair weigh heavy in his bones. Recognition and memory return next, reminding him of where he is. Where he has been for what he’s guessing is a few months. Fuck, he’s tired. 

The days pass by while he clings to embers of catalytic fury. It’s all been a dark haze, but words and snippets of memory and feelings stand out. Most of it is things the Noah have said to him, Bookman silent. 

“Do not resist,” they whisper. So he fights.

“Tell us what you know,” they say. So he is silent.

“Give up,” they yell. So he hopes.

He chokes on the blood and bile that wells up within him as Fiedla’s parasites destroy him slowly and completely. So often in this endless, dark basement he can’t find it within himself to feel anything but fear and exhaustion and desperation. Today he manages to scrounge up familiar rage, letting it run rampant in his mind.

Fuck the man who did this to him. Fuck the men of the cloth who manufactured this war. Fuck the church and fuck the heretics and fuck the entire goddamn world broken into bits that set people up to lose their life as collateral damage in a holy war. Fuck Bookman, his master, the person who raised him for just sitting and watching them hurt him. The thoughts make his skin itch and burn. Lavi wants to scream, but it’s stuck in his throat along with all the squirming parasites. He who loves words, they plucked the words right out of him. 

What would he scream, Lavi wonders, if he could? 

The apprentice in him tries to supply a host of reasonable, practical options. _Call out a spell_ , he says, _to make an escape. Tell them what they want to hear. Give them information on the Black Order and it’s plans and it’s useless exorcists. Why do you care? You’re a Bookman first, and they’ve left you to die here_. Lavi ignores it all. As soon as he asked himself, he knew what exactly he would say.

 _I’m sorry, Yuu. Sorry for anything that needs apologizing, that it looks like I disappeared, that we had to meet like this instead of in a time or place where we didn’t have to fight_.

Just like he half-wishes that if he could see beyond these shadows, Kanda would be there with that quiet smile. That if he could move freely, he would hold Kanda close and just listen to him breathe, safe. His mind balances the dissonant, simultaneous hopes that someone ( _Kanda_ ) is and isn’t looking for him. That he wants to hold on for a rescue as much as he hopes any rescuers stay far away from this nest of dangerous, angry people who kill because they think it is their God-given right to decide who lives and dies.

So when Tyki ( _Damn, why him?_ ) steps out of the shadows one day, alone, Lavi is already about to snap. It’s a short conversation with fake pleasantries from Tyki’s side. Lavi doesn’t engage. 

“Ah, the perfect apprentice. Or were you ever? I distinctly remember your rage when I almost killed Allen Walker. What about the way you watched Lenalee Lee’s back? The look on your face when you turned that fire snake on Road. And I just have this feeling about your, hmm,” Tyki twirls a finger around the hair hanging in his face. “ _friendship_ with Kanda Yuu. Doesn’t sound too impartial to me.”

Lavi knows he’s right, and hides behind the apprentice’s borrowed coldness. He looks directly into Tyki’s eyes and, for a moment, feels nothing.

“Don’t be like that,” Tyki runs a thumb across Lavi’s jaw. “Show me some of that wrath I always see in your eyes. You know Bookman won’t mind, he’s not stupid. He’s seen you falter and hasn’t disowned you yet. Tell me how you feel about the Order. What about the whole church?” 

Bookman watches. Always silent. Lavi gives him a look he hopes his master knows is an apology.

“I hate them,” he coughs out, voice rasping. “ _Hate_ them.” And Lavi’s skin burns to the point of searing pain. It blends neatly with all he was already feeling. Tyki laughs at him, goading. “It’s not just them, I hate you. And Bookman. And everyone telling me what I can and can’t do. You think you have power over me, but you don’t. None of you do.” It feels like spilling his guts, a gaping wound carved across his torso. _It’s just words_ , he thinks, _but I mean it_.

Tyki wraps a hand around his throat. Bound as he is, Lavi can only struggle. The world goes white.

Lavi was not his first name, or even his second, but it looks like it might be his last.

—

+1

…

He opens his eyes, and _breathes_.

**Author's Note:**

> Definitely self promotion, but if you liked this, you might also like [“rain is just the sky crying for you.”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14105604) The works have similar structure and, of course, more LaviYuu. 
> 
> For Lavi to go through forty-nine names in a little over ten years (that’s the best estimate of the timeline I think we have), he has to be burning through them pretty quickly. For anyone that cares, I chose what number name he was with this in mind. When I was writing, I felt that six is under ten years old and forty-four is maybe a year before forty-nine/Lavi joins/is forced into the Black Order.


End file.
